


Echolocation

by Beatrice_Otter



Category: Original Work, Wings Wetted Down - Blue Oyster Cult (Song)
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/F, Femslash, Nuns, Platonic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 03:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14741537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatrice_Otter/pseuds/Beatrice_Otter
Summary: Somewhere above the cloister, there were inhuman things.  She could not tell whether the howling she heard were their voices or the wind.





	Echolocation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/gifts).



> Thank you to Karios for the beta and the title.

Milica stared up at the ceiling of her cell, not that she could see it. It was the middle of the night, and it was raining outside, and she was cold even with the thick wool blanket on her bed. The shutter was doing very little to keep out the cold wind, although it was keeping the rain out quite well. It was also keeping the light out—not that there would have been much light anyway, with such a storm.

But she knew they were out there. Somewhere above the cloister, there were inhuman things. She could not tell whether the howling she heard were their voices or the wind.

(Of course, it could be both.)

And surely, surely that was thunder, and not hoofbeats; lightning, not flashes of mythic weapons.

It couldn’t be long until Matins, and in any case she wouldn’t sleep until the flights of eldritch beings above stopped. Milica rose and dressed quickly by touch, the proper arranging of her habit being, well, habitual by this point.

Once outside of her cell, the glow of a fire could be dimly seen from the refectory. One of her new sisters must already have woken from the night’s first sleep and tended the banked coals. Good. Milica would be glad of the company. She hurried down the hall.

Sister Barbara was sitting by the fire, yawning, sipping occasionally from a mug of ale. She turned as Milica entered the room. “Ah! Sister Milica!” she said in a low voice, mindful of their still-sleeping sisters. “You’re up early tonight. Storm wake you?”

“No,” Milica said. “The things in it.”

The slight smile vanished from Sister Barbara’s face, and she reached for her rosary. “Should we go into the sanctuary?”

Milica hesitated. “I don’t think they’ll come out of the clouds, tonight,” she said. “And I would rather not sit there in the dark and cold listening to them.”

“We could light the candles, but I see your point,” Sister Barbara said. “A fire is awfully comforting, isn’t it? How about we bring some of the crosses over, though?”

Milica wasn’t sure that crosses would be effective at protecting them from ghostly visitors overhead; they felt neither angelic nor demonic, not that Milica had ever seen an angel or a demon for comparison. Angels probably felt more awe-inspiring, and demons more vile, and the things she saw that no one else did felt merely strange and sad, and sometimes fearful. Besides, none of them had ever shown the slightest awareness that she was there, as oblivious to her as everyone else was to them. Still, better safe than sorry, and it was something to _do_ rather than sitting there listening to inhuman cries.

“Want an ale?” Sister Barbara said when they were done.

“No, thanks,” Milica said. “I’d rather not need to go out to the privies tonight.”

Sister Barbara paused, mug halfway to her lips. “Good point,” she said, hastily setting it down. “Would you like to pray?”

“We’ll pray when the others are up,” Milica said. “For now, just something to distract me, I think.”

Sister Barbara nodded, and launched into a tirade on the quality of fish the abbey had gotten last Friday, and how Mother Eusebia ought to speak to the game wardens who managed the abbey’s hunting and fishing, because there was only so much the kitchens could do when both the quality and the quantity supplied was inadequate.

Milica joined in the commiseration, comforted by the familiarity of a cozy middle-of-the-night chat. This time of night, after the first sleep when people rose to tend the fires and chatter quietly before going back to bed, had long been her favorite time of day. No chores to be done in the warm dark besides tending the fire, just time to talk with her sisters and brothers.

She hadn't seen them in months—and not for long, even then, in the case of her brothers, who were of course not allowed within the cloister walls. But her new sisters were becoming as close as ever the ones she'd grown up with had been. Sister Barbara, whipcord thin and jolly, who always had a kind word; Sister Maria Ludovica who always had something witty to say, even if it wasn't the kindest; Sister Theodosia who always knew just what to say; Sister Maria Salomea who ran the choir with an iron fist but was scrupulously fair; and, of course, her beloved Honorata—

Milica tensed as an unearthly noise that only she could hear ululated up and down her spine, low and distorted, beating against her skin like a drum.

"Are you okay?" Sister Barbara asked quietly, sliding closer to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"I can distract myself, sometimes," Milica said, burrowing into the warm embrace, "but not forever. Not while they're still _there_." And now that she was paying attention, again, she could hear wings …

(Or was that just the wind? Was it her imagination? She could frighten herself into false visions, sometimes, if she strained to perceive more of the creatures.)

"Are they back?"

Milica startled. _That_ was a person, Mother Eusebia awake for Matins. Sometimes, sometimes Milica was not quite sure what was real and what was not, but Mother Eusebia's brusque matter-of-factness was so entirely unlike the black horsemen or their bird-like pursuers, it could not be confused.

"Yes, Mother," Sister Barbara said, twisting to face her. Milica turned along with her.

"Well. It looks like you have done everything that _can_ be done, for now," Mother Eusebia said, observing the circle of crosses they sat within. "Ah, Sister Petronela, Sister Honorata," she said, turning to the women who had followed her into the refectory, "I think we will want torches when we cross to the church, tonight. And no one should go alone."

Milica stirred. She would much rather be held by Honorata than Barbara; it was not something she often got the chance for, and in any case, Honorata was _far_ more distracting than Barbara, for all her good will, could ever be.

The flush and shiver that went up her spine was far more pleasant than the one she'd had just minutes earlier, although probably even _less_ appropriate to be dwelling on as preparation for worship than the creatures above.

The sisters filtered in to the refectory in ones and twos, the last stragglers being efficiently rousted by Sister Walburga. When all were gathered, they formed themselves into a tight group, Milica in the middle, torches on the outside, to brave the stormy night and the creatures therein.

It was only a short walk along the cloister from the dormitory to the church itself, and Milica was grateful once again for the roof of the cloister. It kept the rain off (although of course some blew in from the open side), but it also meant that she could not look up to see the things above them even if she wanted to. She kept her hands folded tightly, eyes lowered, as the group moved swiftly. Mother Eusebius led the way, and Honorata was right next to Milica, praying the rosary as they walked. Her scratchy voice was more soothing than Maria Salome's purest tones, and Milica focused on it as much as she could.

Milica froze, swallowing with a suddenly dry throat. She felt herself trembling, and she knew she had stopped moving, but she could not take another step.

Something was close. Involuntarily, her head turned slowly to the garden space next to the cloister.

There was a thing like a horse, with a man in strange clothing, fighting one of the bird creatures. It had _landed_ in the _cloister_. Milica could hear her heart pounding. Ichor poured off the bird, and blood from the horse and rider was flung around, though of course it did not actually _touch_ anything.

In a matter of seconds, the bird-thing was slain, and the man stood there, staring at it. There was a … a _weight_ to him that Milica did not understand. He wavered, and she could almost see through him as if he were a ghost, but at the same time there was a solidity to him like the ancient stones of the mountains, as if time touched him only gently.

He was … he wore a helmet, so she could not see his face, but he was tall and heavy-set, and although his clothing looked like fabric it had protected him like armor. She could not hear his heaving breaths, but she could _feel_ a sort of distant grief and pain, almost overriding her own fear.

And then.

Then _he looked up at her_. A small noise escaped her.

It was the first time one of the apparitions had ever noticed her or anything else about the real world.

He took off his helmet and lifted his hand to his mouth, saying something she could not hear.

"Sister Milica?" The voice sounded from far away.

"Sister Milica?"

"Milica?"

The man, his steed, and the dead bird-thing vanished as human hands shook her. "We have to _move_ ," Honorata said urgently. She'd stopped praying and was tugging Milica the last few steps to the church door. As the hurried through the narthex and into the nave, a great sigh of relief came from the sisters around her.

"Is there one of those _things_ in our courtyard?" Mother Eusebia asked, urgently.

"Not anymore," Milica said.

"But there _was_ ," Sister Maria Ludovica said, voice harsh with fear.

"It did not touch us," Mother Eusebia said. "The Lord kept us safe. And we will keep an eye on that garden to make sure nothing is blighted." Milica had always appreciated her superior's calm practicality, but never more than now. She'd been sent to the abbey in the hopes that living within the pale would keep the visitors away. When it was clear it did not, Mother Eusebia had simply accepted it and given Milica the support she needed. "And now that we are safe inside the sanctuary, I think we shall have a night-long vigil instead of trying to return to bed tonight. Tomorrow, if you wish to sleep instead of attend to your work, you may."

There was a chorus of relief from the sisters around her.

* * *

By the time dawn broke the next morning, they were all very tired, but also much calmer. The rest of the creatures seemed to have left when the man in the courtyard disappeared; as Milica had recovered, so had the rest. Nobody hesitated to walk out into the watery morning light towards the refectory to begin preparing breakfast. Porridge was made and eaten, and then the sisters left in ones and twos, for bed or to other tasks as they chose.

Milica and Honorata sat together in the refectory until their yawns were too contagious to be kept in, at which point they departed for their cells.

"You know, it's still very cold," Milica said outside her door. "You can hardly tell it's spring. Mother Eusebia wouldn't mind if we shared a bed to keep each other warm."

Honorata gave a small laugh and reached up to tuck a lock of Milica's hair back underneath her wimple. "I know," she said. "Please don't tempt me."

Milica was here for refuge, and then because she found she liked a quiet life with her sisters here. Many of the others were nuns because they didn't want to marry. Honorata, on the other hand, was a nun because she had a true vocation. Milica could have told her she was still frightened and wanted company, and Honorata would probably have agreed, but it would have been wrong. "All right," she said, taking Honorata's hand in her own.

Honorata closed the last distance between them, wrapping her arms around Milica.

Milica buried her nose in Honorata's hair, breathing in the other woman's scent.

"Pleasant dreams," Honorata said, releasing her. "Or at least, better ones than last night."

Milica squeezed her hand, all aglow with her dear friend's presence. "I think I will."

* * *

Milica woke, feeling much better. It was daylight, and rest and time had calmed her. From the angle of light streaking through the chinks in the shutters, it was mid-day—she had missed Terce, at least, and possibly Sext as well; Mother Eusebia must be feeling generous, because she never let them miss praying the hours when they held night-long vigils for Easter or Christmas. But it would be best not to push her luck.

She hummed as she got dressed for the day. Her stomach was growling, but there would be food in the refectory even if she had missed lunch; and then there was the question of what she would do with the rest of the day, since Mother Eusebia had given them the day off. She might go for a walk down to the stream (possibly with Honorata), or maybe Sister Petronella would read to them. (She had such an expressive voice, it was always a treat to listen to her.)

In the light of day, it was easy to be happy: the specters seldom haunted her more than once every few months, and almost never in daytime; it would be some time before they returned to trouble her. And in the light of day, it was easy to remember that the ghostly apparitions had never hurt her, nor anyone else that she knew of. They were eerie, but harmless.

She flung open her shutters, turning up her face to the sun. Although still weak, this early in spring, it promised more light and warmth to come. She let out a happy sigh, then turned her gaze to the garden.

She almost couldn't believe that she had seen the apparitions there, so close to hand, instead of far-off in the sky.

And see; there was no ichor or blood splattering the dirt, no plants trampled by hooves or boots or rendered by claws. Almost, she could believe she had dreamed the whole thing. Everything was peaceful and normal. She might glimpse the world of flying horses fighting bird-like creatures, but it could not touch her or her world. She gave a nod of satisfaction, and started to turn to leave the room.

She froze, and turned back, eyes turning to something she had missed in her first inspection. Surely, she was mistaken.

But, no, there it was between cloister walk and flower bed.

One lone, black, feather.

**Author's Note:**

> I have ALL THIS BACKSTORY AND WORLDBUILDING and most of it didn't end up in the fic. I headcanon: Milica is sensing psychic echoes of a war from long ago in a different dimension/universe/whatever. (I picture something very weird and SFnal that doesn't fit with anything in Milica's understanding.) The horseman is also psychic, which is why he could sense _her_ and mostly the flights of horsemen and army of birds can't generally see Milica, the church, or anything that's in Milica's world.
> 
> Also, for Milica herself, I think that while she wouldn't necessarily have chosen to become a nun if they hadn't thought "maybe it will make the disturbing visions go away!" she likes being a nun now that she is one. Because while you weren't supposed to have sex or leave ... most nuns had far better standards of living than the women in the surrounding society who weren't nuns, and they also lived in a world made up completely of women in which women were respected and had free time. I mean, there were some convents that were bad, but most of them were places that women could have much more freedom and control of their own lives than the world outside their walls, ironically enough.


End file.
